Page 77 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

The second his weight shifted too far off-center, the bull did exactly what bulls were trained to do—it sent him flying.

He hit the dirt hard, rolling as fast as he could to avoid the hooves coming down behind him. The bullfighters sprinted in, waving their arms, trying to pull the bull’s focus away. But for a split second, they weren’t fast enough.

The bull’s back leg came down inches from Dalton’s chest, and I swore my heart stopped.

I squeezed my phone tighter, my knuckles aching.

This is why I don’t watch this.

My health anxiety already had me spiraling over normal, everyday things, but this? Watching someone I knew get tossed like a rag doll, seeing them almost get stomped out under 1,800 pounds of raw muscle? It was enough to make me want to throw up.

I didn’t understand it. The fearlessness. How they climbed onto these bulls, knowing damn well they could end up in the dirt—or worse.

Dalton scrambled to his feet, jogging toward the fence and shaking out his arm like it had taken the brunt of the fall. The camera zoomed in on him grinning, shaking his head like he loved it.

Meanwhile, I was gripping the blanket around me, trying to convince my brain that I wasn’t the one who had almost been trampled.

The camera cut to Dalton, slightly out of breath but still grinning like he hadn’t come inches from being stomped into the ground. Dirt streaked his jaw, and his blonde hair was a mess beneath his helmet, but he looked completely unbothered—like this was another Friday night for him.

The interviewer stepped up beside him, shoving the microphone in his direction.

“Dalton, rough ride out there, but if no one else gets a qualified ride, you’re still sitting in the top five. How are you feeling?”

Dalton wiped a hand down his face, smearing the dirt even more, then flashed the camera a cocky grin. “Feelin’ damn good, man. Just needed to make that eight, but we’ll see how it shakes out.”

The interviewer laughed. “And how are you celebrating tonight?”

Dalton winked, tilting his head enough to shake out his sweaty blonde curls. “Well, if you’re a buckle bunny and wanna party, we’ll be at⁠—”

The screen cut mid-sentence, the feed cutting back to the announcers while the crowd roared in laughter.

From the edge of the frame, I could see Dalton chuckling. I rolled my eyes as I pulled the phone so it was closer to me.

The announcers’ voices rose in excitement as they set up the stakes for the next ride.

“Alright, folks, here we go—rider needs an eighty-eight point one to keep himself in the lead and secure that forty-thousand-dollar sponsor bonus tonight. The pressure’s on.”

The camera panned over the arena, cutting to the chutes, and I already knew.

Even before the name flashed across the bottom of the screen, I knew.

Beneath the bright gold helmet and matching gold chaps, there was no mistaking him.

Beau.

My breath caught in my throat as the camera zoomed in on the chutes. One guy was gripping the back of Beau’s vest, spotting him as another guy I didn’t recognize pulled the bull rope tight. The contractor leaned over the rails, adjusting the flank strap on the bull. These were all things I’d learned in the last couple weeks of watching events.

Beau was locked in, his body tense, but controlled, his hand flexing around the braided handle of the rope. His chest rose and fell slowly, the stillness before the storm, the exact moment his mind shut out everything but the eight seconds ahead of him.

I sat up straighter in bed, gripping my phone tighter, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, barely breathing.

I’d seen him ride before—spent weeks binging bull riding footage, so of course I’d run into videos of him. But back then he was just a face on a screen, some name in a caption. A rider in a different world.

Now, I knew he was real. Right next door on his ranch. And watching him this time was… personal.

The second the camera locked onto him, my thumb hovered over my screen, and without thinking, I hit screen record.